World on Fire
by PocketRevolution
Summary: In the dark and dangerous streets of Nazi occupied Paris, four people from very different backgrounds are brought together with one common purpose: Resistance. Based on the video game, The Saboteur.


**World on Fire**

**By: **PocketRevolution

**Rated: **M for Mature

**Genre: **Adventure/Romance

**Pairing: **Sean D./OC , Y. Bryman/OC

**Spoilers: **Anything in the game may be used.

**Summary: **In the dark and dangerous streets of Nazi occupied Paris, four people from very different backgrounds are brought together with one common purpose: Resistance. Based on the video game, The Saboteur.

**Disclaimer: **The authors claim no ownership over The Saboteur, its characters, or events. These are the sole property of their respective owners.

**Chapter One: Future Imperfect**

It was a grey day in the city of Paris. Rain soaked the streets and rolled into gutters, carrying with it the refuse of the days' atrocities. Nazi occupation had left the streets of this once great city drab and filthy. The pigs never cleaned up their squalor. Flyers, papers, and other trash rollicked about in the wind and splashes of crimson blossomed on the pavement where blood had been spent in the name of Aryan perfection.

Sean Devlin had walked these streets in happier times when the local color and music were vibrant in the air. He and Jules had spent many a night wandering from bar to bar, drinking too much and making eyes at the girls. That world had ended months ago with the start of the war and returning here would not wash Jules' blood from his hands. Sean had thought that a walk around the city would bring back old times; give him back some little bit of what he'd lost. What it had done instead was left him sullen, achingly sober, and itching for a fight. Now, back at the Belle, he intended to fix at least one of those problems as quickly as possible.

An hour of determined drinking found the Irishman slouched over the bar, staring at that same photograph of he and Jules: the one that still haunted his dreams. The room had taken on a fuzzy sort of glow and the sounds had begun to blur. Above the hum, a German officer could be heard, the accent causing Sean to grind his teeth. He didn't recognize the words or understand their meaning but he could hear a gloating tone in the man's voice. Now he stood, drunkenly calling for another round for his mates. When the waitress approached, he grabbed her, feeling her up and bringing a desperate expression to her face. Sean stood up.

"Sorry gents. This room's for lookin' only. If it's action you want, I suggest to go elsewhere."

The Nazi sized him up drunkenly and let out a snort.

"You are outnumbered, friend. You should watch your mouth."

"Too bad for you, I got a score to settle."

"Too bad for you, Irishman. The German people do not lose."

"That so?"

Sean threw a punch and another. For a moment or two, he seemed to be doing well, but the German was right. He was outnumbered and soon he felt a blow from behind. He staggered and another punch landed at the base of his neck. He dropped to one knee, his vision blurring. He was quickly surrounded and he could hear their laughter ringing in his ears as the world went black.

* * *

Devlin awoke in a gutter that reeked of piss, aching and covered in blood. So much for retribution.

"Fucking brilliant," he groaned.

Out of the shadows, a woman emerged.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. You're lucky to be alive, you stupid shit."

A delicate hand reached out to Sean from the drunken haze through which he currently viewed the world. The fog lifted enough for him to make out the lacy garment (or distinct lack thereof) that adorned the sleek frame looming over him.

"You're the lady from the Belle."

The accusation, however accurate, only prompted the nameless female to lazily shrug her shoulders.

"That your way of saying thanks?"

"I did not ask for your help. Now, quickly, get to your feet before your German friends return," the woman murmured through the thickness of a French accent.

At last, Sean seized the waiting hand as he pulled himself to a stand, the soreness of his most recent beating making his legs feel more like anchors.

"You at least gonna tell me your name?"

"When you smell less like a sewer."

"Thought you ladies were supposed to be polite."

No response was forthcoming from the woman. She merely rolled her eyes as she forcibly claimed the bend of Sean's elbow. She used it to steer him around the exterior of the Belle until the obnoxious laughter and the silky voice of the singer within were so faint that they might have been purely in his head.

There were no flashing lights at the posterior of the Belle; no eager receptionist, no seductive jazz music to set the mood. All that lay in wait for Sean Devlin was the desolate wooden door embedded in the wall and the woman nudged it open unceremoniously before quietly closing it behind them.

"The shower is that way. I suggest you make full and immediate use of it."

"You gonna tell me your name now?" Sean asked, already peeling the jacket from his sore frame.

"I believe we had a deal."

Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the small, cluttered room and the nameless woman could hardly contain the grin that sought to curve plush, painted lips. She wondered, idly, just how much of Sean bore the marks of former brawls as she slid the bedroom's concealed door closed behind her.

By the time Sean emerged from his heated shower, steam rolled freely from the exposed flesh of his torso, his waist and all that resided below concealed behind the towel he'd secured tightly around himself.

"So about that name. You gonna..."

Devlin stopped instantly at the startling emptiness of the room, lips still parted to speak.

"Oh, Jesus Christ."


End file.
